I’ve been in a pretty bleak headspace as far as my writing is concerned for about a week now. It happens, it’s part of the process. I’m not going to dwell on that, just acknowledge it. Sometimes I hate my writing, I hate the process of writing, and I wish that the whole concept of language had never been invented. Let’s just go back to grunts and snorts.
I strongly suspect that I am not the only writer who feels this way from time to time.
Anyway, feeling very insecure (and I am, my manic overconfidence is a smokescreen to conceal the fact that I usually feel like an epic failure) I went back and started rereading Catskinner’s Book.
It’s not terrible. Honestly, it’s pretty good. It’s fast paced, entertaining, and narrator is fairly likable, for a guy with a killer alien demon thing living in his head. I think the supporting characters are well-written. They still seem realistic to me, even the ones that are pretty outre.
I need that. I am going to move on and reread Cannibal Hearts as well. Then I am going to read what I have on Worms Of Heaven and try to finish it. I know what’s going to happen at the end, everyone lives happily ever after in a magical land full of puppies and rainbows. (Not buying it, are you? Okay, radioactive puppies that bite you and make your eyeballs melt out of your skull. And poison rainbows.)
I’m also putting together ideas for Gingerbread Wolves. We went on a little day trip yesterday and I saw some things on the trip that I think I can twist and make into something creepy.
There was this automatic car wash with a video screen that showed this little animated movie to try to entice you into washing your car. Standing outside smoking I watched that thing about nine times in a row, and it started to seriously freak me out. (The problem with writing what I write is after a while everything starts looking like an alien conspiracy to control your mind.)
See, I had faced a crisis of confidence. The rejection (and copious notes for revision) that I recently received shook me. I don’t think that was the intent, I think it was supposed to spur me to do better. Instead it made me seriously consider whether I should even bother trying.
I had to go back and read my books as a reader–not as an editor or a writer. I had to ask myself the serious question–is this book fun to read? Did I get my money’s worth out of it? (As an aside, I do buy my own e-books from Amazon. I want to make sure that the version that they sell isn’t corrupted from my original formatting.)
All in all, I think Catskinner’s Book holds up. It’s not a perfect book–there are no perfect books–but I think it’s decent value for the investment, both in terms of money and time.
That’s good enough for me.